A Thousand Words
by Song of Silence
Summary: In Pokemon Ranger: Shadows of Almia there is a never-seen, but always there presence. There is someone following you everywhere, taking pictures for the newspaper. What did it take to get some of the shots and how did everyone not notice?


A/N: Ugh. I've been in such a creative block it's not even funny. That said, it'd be nice if you could excuse any un-funniness or lamesauce-ness. I recently re-played PR:SOA and found something that bugged me, so here's my explanation. I can't be the only one who's wondered this. (This is also the longest thing I've written in a very long time. T.T)

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><p><strong>A Thousand Words<strong>

I haul my soaking, exhausted form from the ocean. My lungs burned and my arms collapsed underneath me from fatigue. Before I hit the ground, I carefully check the bag slung over my torso-it was off to my side and fine. I lay there for a few moments as I wait for my breath to slow down.

Puff, huff, puff. I was by no means an athlete and definitely no long-distance swimmer. I am a merely a photographer; I work for the Almia Times. That doesn't explain why I've just swam who-knows-how-many nautical miles, does it? Perhaps I should rewind to a few hours ago.

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><p>I crouched down lower in my hiding place. It was extremely uncomfortable hiding amongst scrap metal, but I couldn't afford to move again. A Pokemon Ranger had sneaked aboard the ship, just like I was hoping. You have no idea how many times I laid in wait for moments like this only for them not to happen.<p>

Muffled sounds of shouts and pokemon cries mix with the hum of the ship. Cautiously, I lift myself from the debris and unzip my camera bag. My hands fiddle with the camera as I walk to the door. Time was of the essence; there would only be minutes to get the perfect shot.

As I open the door, the last five Dim Sun grunts dive into the ocean in panic and disgrace. The young, spiky-haired Ranger runs over to her fallen Leader as I slip out the door. With Barlow down, this was the final show-down-the moment I had been waiting for! I could only imagine the headlines that would appear in tomorrow's paper, accompanied by my pictures, of course.

Swirly-hair's Drapion charges toward the standing Ranger who launches a Capture Disc. _Click, click, click _my camera quietly captures the moment as I watch the Ranger expertly befriend the pokemon. Swirly-hair's brief-case-thing explodes as the Drapion is released.

Quickly, I bolt back to the side-door before anyone notices me. The big-bad guy's irate voice carries on the wind-did he say he was sinking the ship! The simultaneous splashes of the Dim Sun Admins are faint in my ears as is Barlow's frantic voice. The cargo ship was going down! I had to get out of here!

The Rangers disappear inside the cabin as I hastily, yet properly, place my camera back into its bag. You can bet I was thanking my lucky stars that I decided to bring a waterproof bag to wrap around my camera-bag. The cabin door swooshes open again as the younger-Ranger bolts down the stairs and to the right. I wonder what their plan was; could they be trying to stop the ship from sinking?

Eh, just in case, I didn't want to stick around and find out. Just because I was here didn't mean I wouldn't be perfectly fine finding out the outcome in tomorrow's paper. I drape the long-stringed bag across my torso and take a deep breath. One, two, three...Geronimo!

I suppose the good news was that by the time I jumped, I wasn't all that far from Nabiki beach. Which brings me to back to my current position, face-down in the sand. Groaning softly, I push myself into a kneeling position. I couldn't just lay here all night; I had a deadline to meet, after all!

As I trudge back to Pueltown, I try and make myself slightly more presentable. I'm sure I still looked like an awful, damp, salty, sandy mess but there wasn't anything I could do about it. Fortunately, there were few people until Pueltown to see me in my bedraggled state. I swiftly-as-possible made my way up to the newspaper office.

I plunk my camera bag on my editor's desk wordlessly. Honestly, I don't think I could speak right now if I wanted to. My editor looks up at me in slight shock but decides not to ask. It'd be easy to figure out once the pictures were uploaded onto the computer, anyway.

As I walk away with a "good work, take tomorrow off" I can't help but wonder. Does Hans's cameraman have to deal with this kind of flack?


End file.
